


Slumber Party

by Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anniversary, Awesome Charlie, Canon Divergent, Charlie Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Ships It, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, variation on lock them in a closet until they sort it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8202113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: Written for SPN Writing PromptPrompt:  Slumber PartyA mini-road trip for Sam, Dean, Charlie and Cas.  Things don't quite go to plan... or do they?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A mini road trip with Sam, Dean, Charlie and Cas. I've always been sad that Charlie didn't get to spend more time with Cas. So I wrote them a little time together.

The morning had been a frustrating bust. The promising information on the whereabouts of the artifact they had been seeking throughout August and early September turning out to be a false lead. Charlie was unapologetic and seemingly unconcerned that her normally impeccable research had run them a merry dance. The brothers had driven through the night to get to this obscure little town. Dean, unlike Sam who seemed to be sharing Charlie’s strangely cheery mood, was tired and pissed.

It was only as they were packing up to leave that Sam spotted a diner and suggested they eat lunch before travelling back to the bunker. Dean’s stomach gave a growl of approval at the idea, so he shrugged and nodded his agreement. It was a typical diner, fans turned lazy circles on the ceiling and it smelt of greasy food, stale coffee and human desperation. 

They ordered burgers and shakes. Sam dropped his usual desire for rabbit food, to partake of the ‘special’, a blue cheese burger and fries. Charlie insisted they order shakes, her latest project, educating Cas in all things human, usually amused Dean, but he was in no mood for it today. The waitress, whose world weary face and sardonic attitude, belied her name badge, which declared her to be called ‘Hope, managed a pleasant smile when Cas turned his attention from the menu to ask her which flavour she recommended he try.

Glaring, Dean flicked his attention back to the menu, but not before he caught the strange little look passing between Sam and Charlie. He was about to comment when he realised what was wrong with the menu. He stared at it. There was no pie. “There’s no pie?” he said, rudely cutting across the pleasant discussion on the merits of traditional flavours like Strawberry over the more exotic concoctions on offer, such as oreo and marshmallow, or candy shrimps and popping candy. 

“No honey,” Hope said kindly. “That’s on account o’ the witch.”

“The what now?” Dean said.

“The witch honey. Local legend. No-one eats pie in Hummersville, it brings the witch into town.”

“You have a witch who steals your pies?” Charlie asked incredulously.

“No honey,” Hope winked at Cas, who smiled back innocently, making Dean narrow his eyes still further. “We have a witch who hates pies. No-one bakes or eats pie, here.”

Dean’s eyes were slits in his face, and Sam kicked him under the table, as Hope headed off with their order. “Dude, lighten up.”

“Oh, I’m light,” Dean declared. “Just as soon as we finish eating, we’re gonna go hit the library. We got a pie hating witch to gank.”

 

The track into the woods petered out into a rough pair of wheel treads, tufted grass lay up the middle, rutted and pitted. No way that Baby was going down there without bottoming out. That left a trek through the woods to the supposed old cabin. Sam checked the GPS, it was still a good four miles away. Dean’s mood adjusted from merely murderous to vaguely psychopathic serial killer. He hated hiking.

 

“It should be a candy cane cottage, with gingerbread walls and marshmallow shingles,” Charlie remarked cheerfully as she clambered over a moss covered stump.

“That would be incredibly impractical,” Cas said. “Especially in a woodland. The etymological wildlife would…” 

“It’s from a fairytale Cas.” Charlie explained, with a giggle. “A witch lives in a cottage made of sweets, so she can capture children to put in the oven.” 

Cas stopped walking and turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. Suspecting that she was teasing him. “Why wouldn’t she just eat the cottage?”

Sam gave a low chuckle and Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s bad enough trekking through all this damned nature, without having to listen to you two, playing Alice and Tweedlenumbnuts,” he growled.

“Well, someone got out of bed the wrong side this morning,” Charlie mumbled, pausing briefly, hands on hips.

“He didn’t get out of any side of the bed this morning,” Cas commented flatly. Surely Dean thought he must be aware of some of these truisms, but no, he glanced at Cas, the furrows between his eyebrows giving away his mild confusion… maybe not. “We all spent the night in the car driving here.” 

“Damn straight. ‘Someone’ didn’t get to go to bed last night, on account of a wild goosechase to this fricking pie hating backwards hicksville town, with it’s pie hating witch crap,” Dean grumbled.

“Ignore him Charlie, he’s just got pie withdrawal,” Sam chuckled, earning himself a glare.

 

They trudged on in near silence for a while. The humidity in the atmosphere spoke of rainstorms and thunder, but the ominous clouds to the West were taking their merry time to roll in. The heat around them was oppressive. Insect noise and occasional bird calls muted by the heaviness of the air. The canopy overhead was thick and in places the undergrowth almost obscured the trail they were following, thorns and briar snatching at their clothes as they walked.

The witch turned out to be a vengeful spirit. An honest to goodness, run of the mill, MOTW, vengeful spirit. They vanquished her relatively easily, but not before, having lost his temper and thrown himself gung-ho into her path, Dean had found himself in the cess pit at the back of the cabin. 

The heavy rain began falling just as they started to walk back and by the time they had trekked through the tangle of trees and brush to the last vehicle accessible part of the track, they were all drenched to the skin. Cas’ comment that at least the rain would wash the worst of the smell off of Dean’s clothes by the time they walked the four miles back to the Impala had not improved his temper any. Nor had sinking knee deep in swampy ground, because he had been stomping ahead instead of walking carefully with the others.

 

The windows of the impala were clouded with moisture, and the blowers were valiantly losing the battle to keep the screen clear. Baby’s wipers even on super fast were doing little to clear the water, and Dean could feel the strain behind his eyes as he focused, through the dazzling diamond shower of water flashing back at him in the headlights, on keeping them on the barely visible road. The wheel was twitching under his hand, as the normally solid car threatened to aqua plane across the rivers of water on the slick tarmac. 

They were tired, hungry and sore when they finally found their way to the motel on the outskirts of the shit-pit town in the middle of nowheresville midwest which Sam had found on his phone. “We’re still a solid 6 hour drive from the bunker even in good weather, Dean,” he said reasonably, “it’s not worth the risk driving through this. You’re beat. We all are.”

The sudden loss of movement stirred Charlie from where she had fallen asleep, slumped against Cas in the back seat. She wiped the little trail of drool from her cheek somewhat self-consciously. Cas merely smiled at her fondly, and stretched his back into a less awkward position. 

Sam turned his head away and grinned when he saw Dean’s face soften as he watched them in the rear view mirror. He winked at Charlie before heading into the reception to check them in. 

The others sat in the car, the neon signs of the gas n sip opposite the motel illuminating their faces in pink and blue, whilst they waited patiently for Sam to return. No point getting out into the downpour until they had to. Charlie dragged her vibrating phone from her pocket. Dean raised his eyebrows. His own phone was going to need at least a week in a rice bag, and even then...it didn’t matter. Past bitter experience meant that the Winchesters never had less than three or four cells charged and ready for use. His first action on getting back to Baby had been to pop the case and put his sim into a spare. She grinned at the message, then catching his expression, wiggled the Experia at him. “Waterproof to 10m,” she exclaimed proudly.

Sam appeared from the Motel reception and scooted quickly across the tarmac. He opened the passenger door and hopped in, water dripping from his hair, down his nose. “No rooms left in the main block,” he muttered. “We’re in the ‘pool house’, down there.” He pointed to a narrow side alley.

Dean’s irritation was barely held in check as he turned the wheel and reversed the Impala back, the powerful engine thrumming. “Pool house?” he scoffed, “In this shit pit?!”

 

The Pool House was adjacent to the ‘pool’, an uninviting looking hole in the ground, long since given over to pile of broken loungers and rubbish, all of which was currently bobbing at half height in the water from the torrential downpour. The ‘house’ was a squat concrete rendered building, a single weak outdoor light casting a deep shadow across the door, as Sam fumbled with the key. He pulled the door open with some force, as it seemed to be sticking in the damp. 

Dean was finishing up locking baby, shouldering his kit bag and ignoring the water dripping down the back of his neck. In truth, he, like the rest of the gang, could not get any wetter.

He stopped just inside the doorway and took in the admittedly clean looking room. The clean looking ‘one’ (singular) room, the en-suite, barely a cupboard, with only a curtain between it and the room. “It’s all they have left,” Sam said, looking warily at Dean, who had been so much like an unexploded bomb all afternoon that it was hard not to hear him ticking. 

“It’s not so bad,” Cas said, either oblivious to the tension, or trying to relieve it. Dean was not sure, but somehow it made him even madder. “It has a TV. It even has a kitchenette. We can all fit, at least.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Where exactly are we all gonna sleep, genius? There’s only one bed?!”

“We can top and tail, and use the cushions from the chairs....” Cas said, shoes squelching as he took Charlie’s bag and placed it on the old battered dresser.

“Top and tail?" he repeated with a snarl, glowering at Charlie, blaming her 'Education Program'...Oh yeah, cool, we'll all share the bed, snuggle up...have a slumber party. You can braid Sam's hair and Charlie and I’ll paint each others nails. ”

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Sam began to chuckle almost immediately, putting his hands up in a gesture that screamed. ‘You only have yourself to blame for what’s about to happen.’ 

Cas ever the literal, missed his sarcasm entirely. “I don’t think Sam would like that very much Dean. He doesn’t like his hair messed with, remember when you put baby powder in his hairdryer and…” he paused, the little confusion wrinkles forming between his eyebrows as Sam’s chuckling intensified, “Although he certainly does have beautiful hair.” He added this last bit hurriedly, hoping the compliment would ease matters. 

Charlie, however, gave a little squeal, “that’s a perfect idea. It’s on my list.”

Dean stared at them all, open mouthed, shaking his head. “I didn’t… I was… I didn’t mean…You have a list? A list of what?” he tried, turning towards the other two for support.

“Dude.” Sam said softly, lips quirking into a look of pitying amusement, as he shook his head. Water droplets fell from his hair, and fell lightly onto his shoulders.

Charlie, expression a curious mix of amusement and excitement, patted the sodden trenchcoat that Cas was still wearing, before slotting her arm into the crook of Sam’s’ elbow. “My ‘Give Cas the full introduction to humanity list’. We’ll go for supplies,” she laughed, dragging an unprotesting Sam back through the door into the falling rain.

 

The door closed, the last few inches probably with the assistance of Sam’s shoulder, judging by the grating noise and the harsh slam. The room was suddenly very quiet. The faint gurgle of the rain in the guttering outside, and the steady drum against the window the only sounds.

Cas stared at Dean and cocked his head to one side. “You’re shivering. You should shower first. I no longer have the ability to heal you if you fall ill.”

Dean wiped an impatient hand over his face. The failed mission was not Cas’ fault, the state of his clothes was not Cas’ fault, the rain was not Cas’ fault, nothing was Cas’ fault. He still felt like punching him, and utterly irrationally that actually made him feel even more angry.

“Fine,” he snapped, grabbing his kit bag and throwing it open, grabbing toiletries. He sighed, heavily through his nose. Cas had turned his back and was standing facing the wall. He stood with his arms limply by his sides, water running from his hair onto his clothes, and dripping from the trenchcoat into a little circle on the floor. “Dammit Cas, what are you doing?”

Cas turned back, face genuinely puzzled. “I thought,” again his head was cocking in the curious birdlike gesture that indicated he was trying to fathom the depths of this inexplicable human, “you might want some privacy. The cubicle is not large and after last week when I walked in on you accidentally while you were unclothed, you said…”

Dean spoke over him, waving a hand in frustration. “That was different, I was… occupied...Strip your wet stuff off and drop it on the lino over there, and use this to dry your hair.” Dean threw a soft towel, and Cas caught it deftly in mid-air, opening his mouth to speak, but seeing the look on Dean’s face he walked silently to the corner of the kitchenette. His trench coat hit the ground with a heavy squelch.

The faucets in the bathroom were stiff and the pipes clanked ominously as a mixture of water and air spat into the tub. A notice on the wall declared the shower out of order and warned that hot water was limited. Dean swore under his breath. He plugged the tub, deciding sharing bath water was going to be better than a cold water for the last man (or Charlie) in.

He whisked the curtain out of his own way, leaking some of his temper into the defenceless fabric and looked into the room. Cas was ineffectually rubbing the towel on his wet hair. His shirt clung to his body, translucent where it touched his skin, his suit pants lay in a rumpled heap on the floor next to his sodden coat. Dean swallowed and counted to ten, determinedly avoiding looking at the line of flesh between the raised hem of Cas’ shirt and the soft wide elastic band of his shorts. “Cas!” his vocal chords contracted of their own volition and his voice squeaked slightly, so he tried again. “Cas,” this time he just sounded pissy. “Get the rest of your shit off, and get in the bath.”

“But…”

“Cas, dammit, get in the bath.”

His mouth set in a mutinous line, Cas dropped the towel onto the little counter beside the sink in the kitchenette and walked towards Dean, his eyes flicking nervously around the room and then back at Dean’s face. “I really think…” he started to try again, his hair oddly spiked from the towel, his shirt clinging in all the wrong places… well actually all the right places… his nipples were a dark purple through the fabric, and his arms and legs were covered in goosebumps.

Dean cut him off abruptly. “Lose the shirt and get in the tub, you’re frozen, worse than I am. Don’t waste the heat arguing with me, the sooner you are in and out, the sooner the rest of us can get in and warm up.”

They stared at each other. Eyes fixed. The battle of wills continuing. Dean determined to make Cas go first while he gathered control of himself. Being human had made Cas no less frustratingly intent on treating him like some precious thing to be protected at all cost. He was just as vulnerable as Dean now. Just as human, why the hell couldn't he just do as he was damned well told. 

He closed the distance between them, fingers scrunching into the cold wet cotton of Cas shirt, he allowed his momentum to flatten his hand and pushed Cas firmly back into the cubicle. The spare phone vibrated and the jangling factory set text alert jarred oddly in the silence between them. Dean stepped back staring at the message on his phone, breaking eye contact. Son of a bitch. He was gonna kill the little jerk. And Charlie. No wonder she was grinning like a cheshire cat as she dragged Sammy out. He strode to the door and turned the handle, it turned loosely in his hand, doing nothing towards unlatching the door. He hit the door with his shoulder, but it remained solid.

“Dean?” Cas head appeared from behind the curtain, his large blue eyes round and concerned.

“GET IN THE GODDAMNED BATH!”

He was going to kill the pair of them. He stared at the phone again. There was no way they had done this to him, to _them._

He read the message again.

“I’ve locked the door and taken Baby. We'll be back tomorrow. Put up and shut up, don’t waste this. PS: There’s snacks and beer in the rucksack.”

He grabbed Charlie’s bag from the dresser, sure enough, the bag was full. He opened it and started to remove the bottles and bags. A notepad lay in the bottom of the bag, open on a page covered with Charlie’s neat handwriting. He pulled it out and started to read. Several items on the list were already crossed out. Waffles for breakfast. Feeding the ducks. Watching black and white movies. Walking barefoot in grass. Milkshakes. A hike through the woods. He stared disbelievingly at the next items on the list. No way. No fricking way. 

Have a sleepover. Share a bath. Kissing. He stopped reading. He didn't want to acknowledge what came next on her stupid, damn list. He was going to kill her. Slowly. With extreme prejudice. He moved the notepad to one side, and his fingers closed around the last items in the bag. He screwed his eyes shut refusing to let his brain understand what might be in the small tube in his hand, or the rustle of the foil under his fingers. 

His phone beeped again. This time the message was from Charlie. “I added my own useful supplies, just in case... Happy Anniversary, bitches.”


End file.
